


the broken-hearted rang their steeple bells

by always_a_slut_for_hc



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Forced Marriage, Geralt and Yenn to the rescue!, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Multi, OT3, Threesome, all I write is Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:28:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_a_slut_for_hc/pseuds/always_a_slut_for_hc
Summary: The invitation arrived at Kaer Morhen in spring, when the last of the snow had turned icy and sparkled like diamonds in the sun. The days were clear and brisk, the nights still bitterly cold. Geralt had been brushing Roach in the sun when the hawk had arrived with a scroll attached to its leg.The parchment was fine and the penmanship impeccable. It formally invited Witcher Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, to Venaria for the nuptials of Julian Alfred Pankratz, the Viscount of Lettenhove.The letter went on, all about the groom and the date and gods knew what else, but Geralt didn't read it. His hands involuntarily twitched, tearing the parchment a bit.Julian Alfred Pankratz.Jaskier. Was getting married.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 67
Kudos: 1337





	the broken-hearted rang their steeple bells

The invitation arrived at Kaer Morhen in spring, when the last of the snow had turned icy and sparkled like diamonds in the sun. The days were clear and brisk, the nights still bitterly cold. Geralt had been brushing Roach in the sun when the hawk had arrived with a scroll attached to its leg.

The parchment was fine and the penmanship impeccable. It formally invited Witcher Geralt of Rivia, the White Wolf, to Venaria for the nuptials of Julian Alfred Pankratz, the Viscount of Lettenhove. 

The letter went on, all about the groom and the date and gods knew what else, but Geralt didn't read it. His hands involuntarily twitched, tearing the parchment a bit.

Julian Alfred Pankratz. _Jaskier_. Was getting married.

"What's that?" came Yennefer's voice from behind him. Her arms curved around his shoulders as she snatched the letter from his hands. Geralt didn't even turn, frozen in place as he was. "Who's Julian Alfred Pankratz, and why are you invited to his wedding?"

"It's Jaskier," Geralt managed to spit through his clenched jaw. "He never told me he was a Viscount, though."

"Jaskier, a noble?" Yennefer's tinkling laugh bounced off the stone walls of the keep. "Wait..."

She looked intently at the invitation. "Pankratz? I did some work for them once... and Hurretz? But he..." she trailed off, her voice concerned. 

"What?" Geralt asked, turning, and the witch shook her head, still reading the invitation over and over, as if it would read differently the fourth or fifth time. Geralt stepped close to her, laid his hands over hers. 

"Yenn, tell me." he said softly.

She raised her violet eyes to his face. Her expression was drawn. "This is...not a joyous invitation, Geralt." she said. "This will not be a happy wedding."

"Tell me everything," he said, his stomach roiling with unease, and she did.

She told him how the Pankratz family was known to be incredibly strict, how they'd hired her a year ago for a tracking spell, before she'd come to Kaer Morhen. She hadn't known the subject, had only been given a lock of hair, but now there was no doubt in her mind that it had been Jaskier they were tracking.

"The father, he mentioned what he'd do to his wayward son when they retrieved him," Yenn said flatly. She didn't meet Geralt's eyes. "Break his fingers, lock him away, beat him bloody - I just - I didn't know it was Jaskier -"

"It's alright, Yenn," Geralt cut in. It was no wonder Jaskier had never mentioned his family, Geralt thought. "What do you know of this Lord Hurretz?"

"He's an absolute monster,' she said, shaking her head. "I've never met him, but I've heard from my sisters that he's cruel, almost to the point of sadism." She gave a sharp smile. "I'm not above a touch of sadism myself, but I'll get consent first. Hurretz decidedly does not. It's rumored he killed his own older sister, even, because she was the heir and would get the most advantageous...marriage..."

She trailed off. Violet eyes were wide when they met Geralt's gaze. 

"Fuck."

\--

That night, everyone gathered around Kaer Morhen's grand fireplace. Thick furs coated the floors and furniture, and candelabra glowed in the corners of the room. It was a fairly modest room, one of the only ones in the keep they could afford to heat, and with four witchers, a witch, and a runaway princess, the room got very cozy very quickly.

"You haven't seen the bard in a year," Lambert said from where he stood against the fireplace, back to the rest of them. "What makes you think he needs saving? Oh right, you're _Geralt of Fucking Rivia,_ savior of the weak and foolish-"

"Shut up, Lambert," snapped Vesemir, and Lambert turned and glared. 

"What? It's bad enough he brought the witch here to make moon eyes at all day and night, now he wants to go running off to save some idiot bard?" 

"He's not an idiot," Geralt growled. Lambert rolled his eyes and continued. 

"And what of your Child Surprise? Just going to burden us with her?"

"Shut UP, Lambert," said Vesemir again, with much more venom. Ciri was tucked in against his side - they'd tentatively bonded over the winter at Kaer Morhen, and now Ciri trailed after the old Witcher like a small brightly colored shadow.

"Think of it this way, Lambert," said Eskel with a grin. "It's either Geralt goes and rescues his bard-"

"He's not _my_ bard-"

"Or he mopes around here for eternity." finished Eskel, and winked at Geralt's unamused expression.

"Well, when you put it that way -" Lambert sighed, and dropped down heavily into a chair next to Eskel.

"Curious, that the invitation came so late," said Vesemir. 

"Not so curious, considering the source," answered Yennefer from where she lay with her head on Geralt's shoulder. "The family most likely hoped it would reach us too late, but as we have the advantage of portals, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Is there any way to confirm that he even needs assistance?" said Vesemir. "Not that I don't believe you, Yennefer, but human familial relationships can shift quickly."

"I can scry him, if need be," Yennefer said, motioning to Ciri. "Bring a mirror," she instructed, and the girl ran off. 

She soon returned carrying Yennefer's silver hand mirror, which the sorceress placed face up on the low table they were seated around. She waved her palm over it, spoke a few words in Eldar, and the mirror misted over. 

Everyone, even Lambert, leaned in to watch as the mists parted to reveal Jaskier. At first it was just his face, and Geralt felt his heart clench a bit at his first sight of the bard in over a year. Then the melancholy feeling of missing the bard was overtaken by a slow, simmering anger.

Because Jaskier did not look as Geralt remembered him, with fine brown hair coiffed perfectly, a smiling face, blue eyes alight with curiosity and humor. No, this Jaskier had a black eye that looked fairly recent, a deep purple flowering over his eye and bleeding out to lurid greens and yellows along his cheekbones. There was a scabbed cut on his cheekbone near his eye, like whoever hit him had been wearing a ring, and his hair was matted with blood. Jaskier's eyes were dulled with exhaustion and what looked like a flicker of fear. 

Ciri gasped. "I know him! Dandelion!" she cried, and they all looked at her in confusion.

"He used to come to court, to - to Cintra," the princess said. "He played at my birthday feasts almost every year. He was always very kind, even though my grandmother, she didn't seem to like him much." Her eyes dropped to where her hands were twisted in her cloak. 

Yennefer laid a hand over the girl's, and Geralt's mind whirled. Jaskier had gone back to Cintra, even after Geralt had blamed him for the entire debacle at Pavetta's feast, blamed him for the Child Surprise. Had he been checking up on Geralt's responsibility? _People linked by destiny will always find each other,_ came an unbidden voice into Geralt's mind.

"He doesn't look so good," Eskel commented. Geralt turned back to the mirror. Jaskier was now backing away from something, revealing more of himself in the frame of the mirror. 

"Is his hand splinted?" said Vesemir. Three of Jaskier's fingers were indeed wrapped in gauze, and he held them awkwardly against his chest as he backed away from whoever was in the room with him. It looked like he was speaking, maybe even begging, judging from the pleading look on his face.

Suddenly, a hand appeared in the frame, soundlessly backhanding Jaskier so hard he stumbled. The witchers hissed in unison, and Yennefer quickly turned Ciri's face into her side, hiding the princess's eyes. 

In the mirror, Jaskier tried to steady himself against the wall with his good hand, wiping the blood trickling from his newly split lip with his wrapped and splinted fingers. Geralt leaned even closer to the mirror as the rage in his throat burned impotently. Helplessly, he watched as large hands, one boasting a large gold ring set with a blood-red ruby, reached out and grabbed Jaskier by the throat. Jaskier was slammed against the wall, and Geralt could almost hear the crack of the bard's skull against stone as Jaskier grimaced in pain. 

The hands pressed down, down, down on Jaskier's pale throat. Jaskier's blue eyes bulged, his bloodied mouth soundlessly gaping like a fish. He brought up his hands to grasp his attacker's, but with one obviously broken, he could only scrabble pathetically against the wrists holding him.

The hands released their grip, and Jaskier sucked in gasping breath after gasping breath. The hand with the ruby ring caressed his face, tracing over the bruise in a cruel mockery of a lover's touch. Jaskier didn't react, just kept looking at his attacker with wide, fearful eyes. The attacker's thumb brushed over Jaskier's split lip, gently, then pressed hard into the cut. Jaskier winced as fresh blood welled up and dripped down his chin- 

Blackness. And then Yennefer's voice, barely audible over the rush of blood pumping in Geralt's ears. 

"I think we've seen enough."

"Clear enough for you, Vesemir?" Geralt sneered at the old witcher, trying to shove his rage down into a deep part of himself, until he could unleash it in battle. His mind filled with the last image of Jaskier's face, the stranger's hand on _his_ bard, and his teeth clenched. 

"Yes," said his teacher simply, and locked gazes with him. Vesemir's eyes were understanding - too understanding, as if he could see within Geralt's heart and see what secrets lurked there. "You must go. We will care for Ciri in your absence."

"Need backup?" asked Eskel. His face was placid, but his golden eyes glittered with the same rage Geralt felt. Beside him, Lambert nodded, his face pinched and angry. Geralt smiled inwardly at his two brothers - oh, they'd put up a tough front, but they were secretly soft.

"No, but thank you," he said. "I can handle this."

"I'll be going," announced Yennefer. Her arm was still around Ciri, whose tiny face was screwed up in worry. "I can't help but feel responsible, for my part in the tracking spell. Besides, if I don't portal us there, we'll never make it in time."

Geralt inclined his head in assent. It would be good to have Yennefer along. 

"Go on, go save your boyfriend," Eskel teased. 

"He's not- that's not - we're not like that." Geralt protested, but his voice was drowned out by the other witchers' laughter.

\--

Jaskier fell into a chair, his breathing heavy. His betrothed had just left from another of his little "visits" that he paid to the bard, and he _hurt_. Raising a shaky hand, he pressed his fingers to his lips. They came away bloody, and Jaskier sighed, head spinning.

Hurretz's visits always followed the same pattern - he'd come in, talk politely with Jaskier for a bit. Then, inevitably, Jaskier would make a mistake or say something wrong, and Hurretz would be on him. It wasn't uncontrollable anger Jaskier saw in the other man's eyes as he beat the bard - it was satisfaction. He'd lie in wait until he could blame Jaskier for something, _anything_ , and then he'd whet his cruel appetites. 

This time had been a bit different, however. Oh, Hurretz's pattern was the same as always, but as Jaskier had been backing away, trying in vain to placate his fiance, he'd had the oddest feeling. Almost like he was being watched, although they were alone. They were always alone - Hurretz didn't like anyone else to see Jaskier these days. 

But nonetheless, he felt eyes on him. It felt almost - well, it almost felt like he could smell lilac and gooseberries, but in his mind. He hoped it was Yennefer, hoped she and Geralt had gotten the invitation he'd sent. If she could see him or read his mind in some witchy way - he thought, as hard as he could, _HELP ME_. 

That invitation had been hard-won for Jaskier. Both his father and Hurretz disapproved of his association with a witcher, but Jaskier had begged. He wasn't proud of it, but he had begged on his knees to Hurretz, who'd soaked it up like a cat in the sunlight, made him grovel for it. He 'd eventually said yes, but Jaskier had his doubts that the invitation had even been sent. But at this point, Geralt and possibly Yenn were his only hope.

There was no other escape for Jaskier. Hurretz had promised his father lands and money in exchange for his hand, and his father had accepted. "More use than I ever thought I'd get out of you, you useless brat," he'd sneered at Jaskier, the day they'd somehow tracked him down in a little seaside pub. He'd been taken to Hurretz's lands of Venaria in chains, and here he'd stayed, enduring the "visits" from his betrothed and the stony indifference from his father. 

The wedding was tomorrow. Jaskier dragged his hand down his face as he sat, bruised and bloody and alone in the tower room where they'd kept him. Now he was going to have to cover the injuries. Nothing less than perfection would satisfy his father and groom-to-be. Nothing ever had, which is the whole reason why he'd run away in the first place. Why he went by a different name, why he flitted from town to town at Geralt's back....

Geralt. Jaskier missed him so much he ached with it. The last time they'd seen each other hadn't gone so well, admittedly, but Jaskier was hopeless. He still considered Geralt a - friend? Companion? Most important person in his life bar none? 

Geralt was _everything_ to Jaskier. He'd never told the witcher how he felt - he knew it wouldn't be welcome, especially once Yennefer blasted onto the scene. But Jaskier was satisfied, would have been satisfied, with just following Geralt around the continent forever. 

But then Geralt had put a stop to even that dream. He still remembered, so clearly, how the witcher looked that day. How his eyes had blazed with anger and hatred for Jaskier, how he'd turned his back on the bard , not even responding when Jaskier had left. The most important person in Jaskier's life, the man he loved, hated him. It had almost destroyed the bard.

He was going to be destroyed anyway, thought Jaskier. How ironic. He knew he wouldn't survive as Hurretz's spouse - oh, he'd technically be alive, Hurretz wouldn't let his new toy die so easily. But Jaskier the traveling bard, the carefree musician traversing the continent at his witcher's side? That man would die. He was dying right now.

Jaskier dropped his head into his bloody hands and wished tomorrow would never come.

\--

The day of the wedding arrived - bright and sunny, perfect weather. Yenn created a portal just outside the town, and they walked along the road towards it. The road was muddy due to the spring thaw, and birds chirped in the budding trees. It would have been tranquil, if not for the roiling ball of anger in Geralt's gut.

"Yenn," he said abruptly. "Why do you want to help Jaskier? You two never seemed to get along, before." He looked down at her, striding along at his side in an extravagant black dress with a fur stole, her face set and serious.

Yenn sighed. "It's partly my fault that he's even in this position, seeing as I did the tracking spell that led them right to him." She shook her head, making her black curls sway. "But I also - I know what you said to him, when you thought you'd lost me. And now that we're together, and with Ciri, I feel like- like-"

"Like something's missing," supplied Geralt, and she gave a little half-chuckle.

"Yes. And you _know_ I don't like to share, but something tells me Jaskier's part of it all, part of your destiny. So he's part of mine, too."

"I...agree," said Geralt slowly, forcing the words out. "I said some things to him the last time. Said he was always there to shovel the shit we'd gotten into. It was...unfair."

"You think maybe he was there all those times because of destiny?" 

"Hm."

"That's a yes," she laughed, but her smile dropped as they turned the next corner. A fine castle rose up in front of them, with a small town scattered at its feet. They'd arrived.

"Hold still," was Geralt's only warning, as Yennefer swept a hand over his torso. His swords shivered and blurred out of existence, but he could still feel their weight on his back.

"There," Yenn said, satisfied. "That should fool everyone, unless another mage decides to get uncomfortably close."

"People don't tend to get close," said Geralt. Except for you, he added in his head. Except for Jaskier. 

"Thank you," he said unexpectedly to Yennefer. Her violet eyes glowed in surprise, then softened. She laid a hand on his cheek. 

"We'll get him back, Geralt."

He just nodded into her palm. They stayed there, frozen in the spring sunlight, until the peal of bells broke the peace. 

"Let's go," Geralt said, and headed towards the castle, towards Jaskier. As they neared the walls, they were caught up in a small procession of guests from the town. The crowd was abuzz with gossip about the day's wedding, and they both tried to gain as much information as possible from the swirls of conversation. 

It seemed no one had seen Lord Hurretz's groom since he'd arrived a week prior, flanked by his family. "A handsome lad, although he seemed a bit thin," one woman said. Parents in the crowd expressed relief that their children were safe from the lord's appetites. One laundress shared that she'd washed the Viscount's clothing, and it had been bloodstained, although she admitted it may have been wine. Geralt and Yenn shared a heavy look, and then they were ushered into the keep.

\--

Yennefer's spell held, as guards checked their invitation and they were ushered to their seats. The small crowd was much more hushed now, here in the chapel of the castle. There were ornate displays of all white flowers here and there: lilies, roses, camellias....not a dandelion to be found.

As organ music filled the chapel, the crowd quieted and turned to look expectantly at the doors at the rear of the room. And there was Jaskier in the doorway, in a crisp white doublet with light blue ribbon and eyelets. To the human eye, he looked very handsome, with his brown hair artfully arranged around his face. But Geralt's witcher eyes could pick up the caked makeup around Jaskier's eyes and down his throat, and the faintest shadow of purple bruising beneath. He clenched his jaw.

Jaskier made his way unsteadily down the aisle, leaning heavily on a tall, surly-looking man that must be his father. Geralt caught a glint at his wrists as he passed their row. Jaskier almost fell as they mounted the stairs to the altar, but he'd never been a clumsy man.

"Drugged," hissed Yennefer into Geralt's ear. "Either that or enchanted."

"Hmm." Geralt's chest burned with rage as he watched his friend get manhandled into position at the altar. Jaskier didn't seem to even notice the crowd in front of him. His glassy eyes skipped over Jaskier and Yennefer without recognition.

Jaskier's father took his son's hands, and as the sleeves of his white doublet fell back, everyone could see the manacles around Jaskier's thin wrists. A low murmur stole over the church as the manacles were locked into a chain set into the floor of the church - newly mortared, Geralt noticed in some sane, quiet part of his mind, as the rest of him screamed in rage.

Jaskier's father dropped his son's wrists once chained, and they made a clinking noise as they dropped. Jaskier's head dropped too, chin to his chest as he swayed where he stood. 

Horns over the organ music heralded the arrival of the other groom. A black-haired man with a matching black beard stood in the doorway alone, clad similarly to Jaskier in a white doublet. His eyes were light blue in a craggy yet handsome face, and they lit with amusement as his gaze fell on Jaskier's chained wrists. As he strode to the altar, Geralt spotted a gold ring set with a ruby glinting on his right hand.

Hurretz (Geralt assumed) took his place across from Jaskier, who flinched back imperceptibly and didn't meet the other man's eyes. Hurretz leaned forward and took Jaskier's hands, making the chain rattle slightly. Geralt growled. Yennefer touched his arm lightly, in promise. 

"Dearly beloved," the priest began. "Blessings and merry meet. Gentle lords and ladies, we have gathered to join Lord Nathan Hurretz and Lord Julian Alfred Pankratz together. They ask you to share in their joy, and they declare their love for one another before you as a community."

The officiant looked at the couple at the altar. "Lord Hurretz, art thou here this day in pledged troth of thy own free will and choice?"

"Aye." said Hurretz. 

"Lord Pankratz?" Jaskier turned to the priest with obvious effort. "Art thou here this day in pledged troth of thy own free will and choice?" 

Jaskier managed a pained, "Yes." His fingers were white where Hurretz was gripping, no, _crushing_ them. There was no splint today, nothing to protect his bard's delicate hands.

"His own free will and a very generous price," commented Jaskier's father crudely. Next to Geralt, Yennefer stiffened. The priest, unfazed, continued.

"In as much as these noble Lords have pledged their troth to be married this day, we call upon the gods to bless this union. Therefore if any one can show just cause, why they may not be joined together, by the Laws of the Realm; let them now speak, or else hereafter keep silent for all time."

Geralt rose immediately, Yennefer at his side. Hushed murmurs spread like wildfire around them, but Geralt only had eyes for Jaskier. 

Jaskier, whose blank and glassy eyes stared right through him, like he wasn't even there. It made Geralt ache, even though he knew it was some enchantment. Had Jaskier felt this way on the mountain, when Geralt had turned his back on the bard?

The priest hadn't even looked up. "Let it not be overlooked, however, there is a rumor that any such objector shall be later beheaded today at the feast for the entertainment and amusement of the lords and ladies in attendance-"

"I object!" Geralt almost snarled, and the priest's words died in his throat. 

Hurretz whipped around and glared daggers at them. "On what grounds?" he demanded, then took in Geralt's appearance more thoroughly. 

"Witcher," the lord said disgustedly, and the assembled people gasped. "You've overstepped your place, mutant. And you have no just cause to object-"

"Oh no?" interrupted Yennefer, her voice like ice. "It may have escaped your notice, Lord Hurretz, but your groom is not in his right mind. Added to this, he is _chained to the altar_ , and you expect us to believe he's here of his own free will?"

Hurretz's face was quickly turning red. He opened his mouth, but Jaskier's father was faster. 

"Don't speak of what you do not know, sorceress!" he said angrily. "Lord Hurretz paid handsomely for my wayward son, and its his duty to fulfill the agreement."

Yennefer's expression turned murderous in a way that Geralt knew spelled certain death for at least one soul today. "You can't just _buy people_ ," she hissed, and raised her hands. Jaskier's father jerked and slammed back against the stone wall of the church, where he twitched and struggled like a pinned butterfly.

The assembly screamed and gasped and scattered as Yenn advanced on the altar with arms still held high. Geralt followed behind her and drew his sword. Jaskier still stood where he was chained, chin slumped to his chest, not reacting to the chaos around him at all, and Hurretz-

Hurretz reached for something in his pocket, but Geralt was quicker. Bounding up the steps to the altar, he punched the lord straight in the teeth with no small amount of satisfaction. Hurretz dropped like a stone, and Geralt put a foot on his chest and the point of his sword to his throat.

Yenn twisted a wrist and released Jaskier's father to collapse on the floor, looking up at them with frightened eyes. Geralt and Yenn's attention turned to the bard.

"Jaskier?" said Yenn, more gently than she'd ever spoken to him. His eyes slowly lifted to hers, cornflower blue irises dull and foggy. Yenn reached out a hand and laid a fingertip on the bard's forehead, and closed her eyes.

A pulse of golden light transferred from her fingertip into Jaskier's forehead, then another, and another. Yenn drew back expectantly, and Geralt held his breath as Jaskier's eyelashes fluttered, and he shook his head.

"Wha-" he said, pulling at the manacles around his wrists. "What's going on-"

He looked up in panic, eyes wide, and saw Geralt. The witcher watched as relief spread across Jaskier's face as the bard breathed his name like a benediction, and the sound curled warmly in his chest. 

"Geralt. Geralt, you came, and Yennefer-" 

"Jaskier," drawled Yennefer, and Jaskier grinned at her.

"Oh, Yennefer, it's been so long since I've heard my name-"

"Because it's not your name!" snarled Hurretz. "Your name is Julian Alfred Hurretz and you belong to _me!_ \- ah!"

Geralt stepped more of his weight on the lord's chest until he gasped for breath and scrabbled at Geralt's boot. "You're to be very quiet, or I'll take your balls first," he whispered, and enjoyed the way the lord's eyes widened in fear.

Jaskier had looked away, shoulders slumping. "I, ah, hate to be a burden," he said with false cheer, "but would one of you kindly get me out of these manacles?"

Yenn laid a hand on the manacles and whispered a word. They clicked open, and fell to the floor with the chain. Jaskier nodded his thanks at the sorceress, rubbing his raw wrists. 

"You'll regret this, Julian," said his father from the floor. "You leave, and you'll have no name, no family!"

"At least I'll have my freedom, Father," Jaskier said, his voice flatter than Geralt had ever heard it. 

"Not your innocence, though," strained Hurretz from under Geralt's boot, and Jaskier went whiter than a sheet. "That's _mine_ , Julian, and it always will be - hrk!”

Geralt’s boot pressed down harder, and he let the tip of his sword start to cut into the soft skin at Hurretz’s neck. He sent a questioning glance at Jaskier, but the bard was frozen in place again, mouth slack, staring at Hurretz.

“Should I kill him?” prompted Geralt, and Jaskier shook his head, unable to look away from Hurretz’s face.

“No, I - I don’t want you in trouble on my account,” he said.

Geralt nodded. Privately, he thought he would get into any sort of trouble if it would help Jaskier, but his friend had been afforded so few choices of late. Geralt would abide by his wishes.

Mostly.

“You’ll live,” the witcher growled at the cowering lord beneath his feet. “But you’ll never touch Jaskier again.” 

A streak of silver, a scream, and the air filled the coppery scent of blood. Lord Hurretz’s hand lay severed on the floor, the ruby ring on his finger glinting among the red drops of blood staining the chapel floor.

Jaskier’s expression held no small amount of satisfaction as he watched the lord writhe and moan in pain. Geralt lifted his boot and turned to his companions. “Let’s go.”

“Splendid! I thought you’d never ask!” Jaskier gave him a tired smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he rallied as the three of them turned towards the exit, pulling his shoulders back and plastering a bright look on his face. The few onlookers that hadn’t fled parted silently for them as they walked back up the aisle, Yenn and Geralt flanking Jaskier. He stumbled, still recovering, and they both caught an arm to support the bard.

“Oops - oh, thank you Geralt, Yennefer. Goodbye, good people!” He called cheekily. “Quite the wedding, eh? This’ll be one for the history books. Just make sure to mention how handsome I looked, hey?”

Against his better judgement, Geralt smiled, and they walked out into the sunlight.

\--

Jaskier’s bravado lasted right up until they left the town behind them, around the same curve Yenn had portaled them to earlier that day. He stumbled again, and this time fell to his knees in the dirt. “Jaskier?” said Geralt worriedly, but the bard waved him off.

“Sorry, sorry, I just, being cooped in a tower and fed very little food doesn’t tend to agree with reckless adventuring,” he joked humorlessly. “I need a moment.”

Yenn knelt next to Jaskier and looked him over critically. "He's in no shape to portal back to Kaer Morhen," Yennefer said, lips pursed.

"Hm. It's not safe here."

"I can enchant a house, hide it from prying eyes for a night," Yenn suggested, and Geralt inclined his head in assent.

"C'mon," he muttered, heaving Jaskier up and slinging his arm around Geralt's neck. The man made a undignified noise, closer to a whimper than anything, and Geralt's heart broke a tiny bit. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt his bard any more, but there was nothing for it - they had to get into hiding.

Slowly, too slowly, their ragged band headed towards the last house on the outskirts of town. Gerlat leaned Jaskier up against the house and knocked on the door heavily. An old woman answered, opened her mouth to speak, and then suddenly smiled emptily as all emotion, all intelligence, was wiped from her face.

"Welcome," she said, ushering them in. Geralt raised an eyebrow at Yenn, who shrugged. The door shut behind them and she whispered a few words, running her hands over the jambs, and the lock glowed gold.

They got Jaskier settled on the bed in the house's tiny bedroom, and then just breathed. A strange, uncomfortable silence fell over them, and Jaskier picked at the blanket beneath him, refusing to meet either of their eyes.

It was Yenn who broke the silence, because of course it was. She sat at the foot of the bed and leveled that violet gaze on the bard. "Jaskier, I need to know what happened," she said briskly. "I'm no Triss Merigold. It'll help me to heal you if I know the extent of your injuries."

Jaskier's head shot up, and he looked panicked. "Ah, well. Do you really need to know it all? Can't you just-" and he wiggled his hands, "magic me better, say a few words and presto!"

Yennefer stared at him with deadpan eyes. Geralt hummed, and laid a heavy hand on the bard's shoulder, feeling the tremble in Jaskier's body.

"Jaskier." he said, and the bard slumped.

"Alright, fine," he muttered, staring down at his hands. "Uh, where to begin...I haven't eaten in four days, that's not been fun...he broke three fingers on my right hand, crushed them with a beer stein. I think my cheekbone might be broken, too, it aches so."

Geralt felt the helpless rage build up within him as Jaskier continued, his voice growing more clinical. "I think a few ribs are broken, not sure, but he and his guardsman beat me pretty badly the time I tried to get away. My head is tender, I feel quite dizzy, and...and..." He trailed off, staring into space with glassy eyes and slack jaw.

"Jaskier," Yennefer said gently, ever so gently, and took Jaskier's injured hand in hers. He stared at their hands in his lap in shock.

"Why-" His voice broke off. "Why are you being so nice to me? You, you both _hate_ me-"

It pierced Geralt through, like a crossbow bolt straight to the chest, the Jaskier thought Geralt didn't like him, didn't _need_ him, didn't ... love him. He sank to his knees beside the bed and cupped Jaskier's face in one rough hand. "Never," he breathed, and watched Jaskier's face crumple. "I could never hate you, Jaskier, I'm - I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean any of it, truly." 

Jaskier's eyes were squeezed shut but he nodded into Geralt's palm. "I wasn't - I didn't know if you would come -"

"Jaskier," rumbled Geralt. "I will always come for you."

"Good, that's - that's good," he whispered, and covered Geralt's hand with his uninjured one. They breathed there for a few moments, until Jaskier steeled himself with a breath and pulled away. 

"As for my part in this," Yennefer said lowly. "I am the reason they found you at all. I did a finding spell for your father, although I did not know it was for you. I facilitated your capture and sale." She spat the words out like they tasted bitter in her mouth.

"They would've found me anyway," Jaskier said with a little half-smile. "My father is nothing if not persistent."

"Nevertheless, I'd like to make amends. Let me help you, Jaskier." The bard looked at Geralt, then Yennefer, and finally his hands.

Shoulders curled even further in on himself, and his voice dropped almost to a whisper. "He...violated me, it - it hurts." He shook his head. "It still hurts."

Geralt heard a roaring in his ears, like the rushing of a great waterfall. He'd suspected, from the hints Hurretz had dropped, but to hear it from Jaskier himself was...he felt as though there was no air left in his body, no blood. If only he'd taken more than Hurretz' hand, like he'd threatened, but it was too late now. Jaskier was what mattered now. He heaved himself back into the present, focusing back in on Jaskier and the tremble of his shoulder under Geralt's hand.

"Lie back," Yennefer was saying. "Let me see what I can do."

Jaskier shut his eyes and leaned back. The tremble in his body increased as Yenn softly skirted her hands over his head, his ribs, his hips. Then she said a few words in Eldar and a blue glow suffused her hands as she traced them above Jaskier, over and over. 

It took hours, but eventually the visible bruising disappeared, Jaskier's furrowed brow smoothed out, and he breathed deeper into his healed ribcage as the glow from Yennefer's hands died and she slumped over, exhausted.

"That's all I can do for now," she said, weariness evident in her voice. "Vesemir has some specialty ingredients I need for his hand, but we should be able to portal back to Kaer Morhen tomorrow."

"Thank you, Yennefer," Geralt murmured, and she gave him a tired smile. Jaskier mumbled something from the bed, and he leaned closer. "Stay," the bard said, flopping a hand to Geralt's chest and pulling him down. Geralt hummed, and stretched out on the bed next to Jaskier, just as they'd done so many times before in villages and inns across the continent. 

Yennefer made to get up from the bed, but a soft touch on her arm stopped the movement. She looked back into blue eyes as broken fingers tried to curl around her wrist. "Please," Jaskier whispered, and the sorceress's face softened imperceptibly. Saying nothing, she gracefully laid down on Jaskier's other side, the bard sighing in relief as they bracketed him in on both sides. 

It was something Geralt had only imagined in his wildest dreams, something he'd barely voiced even to himself, but having Yennefer and Jaskier safe and sleeping against him filled his whole chest with warmth almost to bursting. He slung an arm over Jaskier to rest on Yennefer's hip and just laid there, savoring the heat of their bodies, the soft noises they made in dreams, the rhythm of their breathing against his, until finally he sank into the darkness of sleep.

\--

The next day they left early, as dawn was breaking and weak sunlight filtered from the trees onto the frosted road. Geralt held Jaskier steady through the whirling, sickening portal, and rubbed a hand on his back as Jaskier threw up the measly bit of porridge he'd been able to eat earlier. 

They'd portaled straight into the hall at Kaer Morhen, but the room was empty, with just the embers of a fire burning in the fireplace. "Not a witcher to be found when you need one," muttered Yennefer, then screamed, "VESEMIR!" Her voice, imbued with magic, bounced of the stone walls and carried throughout the keep, not fading with each echo. 

"He has to get the the tower anyway," said Geralt. They started towards the spiral stair that led to Vesemir's chambers in the one remaining tower, Jaskier moving slowly and supporting himself on the curving stone walls.

They were almost halfway up when Geralt heard footsteps, and then the other witchers and Ciri were there on the stairs behind them.

"Move," ordered Vesemir, shoving Geralt aside and looking at Jaskier with an assessing eye. “Just carry him, Geralt, gods!” was the only thing he said as he stormed onwards to his chamber. 

Geralt tilted his head at Jaskier in question, and when the bard nodded reluctantly, swept him up into his arms like a bride and carried him into Vesemir’s chambers. There was a small antechamber before Vesemir’s bedroom, filled with dusty shelves full of potion ingredients and jars, ancient tomes, and strange objects no one could quite identify. 

The old witcher was busy lighting candles, suffusing the room with soft golden light. “Put him there,” and he motioned to a small table with a few chairs. Geralt supported Jaskier down into the chair, and a blonde head poked out from underneath his arm. 

“Dandelion?” said Ciri softly. “Is it - do you remember me?”

Jaskier’s eyes widened in shock. “Little Miss Lioness?” he breathed, and she rushed at him, burying her face into his chest as his arms came up to hold her tightly. “You found her,” he said, looking up at Geralt. “Your Child Surprise, I - well, I tried to check in on her, sometimes.” He softly stroked Ciri’s hair, and she snuggled in deeper.

“I missed you, I miss - I miss court, and your songs,” Ciri sobbed, and Yennefer made a small sound beside Geralt, looking at the two embracing figures with a thoughtful gaze.

“Very good, Ciri,” grumbled Vesemir. “But the bard is injured and we need room to heal him.” With obvious reluctance, the princess detached herself from Jaskier, and dashed at her eyes. “Alright.” 

Vesemir nodded at her, then, “Out!” he barked at Eskel and Lambert, where they pressed into the doorway. “Take the girl out for sword practice or something, you don’t need to be here!”

Once they were gone, Vesemir turned to Jaskier and held out his hand, and Jaskier offered him the broken hand. He turned it this way and that, then sighed and turned to Yennefer. 

“It’s not going to be pretty, you know. The bones, they’re -”

“Shattered, I know,” finished Yennefer. “But it’s the only way, or he’ll never play again.”

“What!” yelped Jaskier. “Never play - but -”

“Bard,” said Vesemir, cutting across Jaskier’s building panic. “Your fingers are no more than a collection of bone shards in a skin bag.”

Jaskier made a whimpered noise, like someone had punched him straight in the throat, and pulled his hand back. Geralt moved to stand behind him, putting what he hoped were comforting hands onto slender shoulders, and rubbed up and down. 

“We can fix it,” continued the old witcher, “but it will hurt almost as badly as the breaking.”

A huff of breath came from the bard as he locked eyes with Vesemir, but after a long moment he nodded. “Do what you must,” Jaskier rasped.

“Geralt? Hold him down,” and Geralt did, his hands now pressing more firmly onto Jaskier’s shoulders. Vesemir brought out a large, flat bottomed dish and set it in front of Jaskier, then filled it with a translucent white potion that seemed to hiss and steam. Yennefer stood on Jaskier’s other side and offered a slim hand, and a look passed between them as Jaskier gave her his wrist. She whispered a few words and dunked the hand into the dish, where the water started to bubble and fizz. Jaskier yelped but didn’t pull back.

Vesemir stepped forward and held the first finger on Jaskier’s hand under the liquid. “It must be rebroken, to set properly,” he said. “Are you ready?”

“Just - just do it.” Jaskier said harshly, gritting his teeth. 

Vesemir’s fingers twisted and there was a snap - 

And Jaskier _howled_. He twisted in Geralt’s grip, trying to hunch over his ruined fingers, but the two witchers held him fast. Yenn was there instantly with glowing blue hands, a glow that shifted into the liquid in the dish, lighting it up like a moonbeam. 

“Again,” said Vesemir. 

Jaskier was panting, his other hand gripping the edge of the table. He gave a curt nod and - 

Snap -

The room filled with Jaskier’s keening, a long sound of pain that reverberated through Geralt’s head, down through his marrow. He’d be hearing that sound in his nightmares, the pain of it, the throatiness of Jaskier’s usually smooth voice. 

“Jaskier,” he said, helplessly, “Jaskier, just one more-”

Snap - 

Jaskier sobbed, a few horrible wracking heaves that he tried to push down, tried to swallow. He shuddered, and slowly released the edge of the table, leaving lines scored by his nails.

The glow slowly faded first from Yennefer’s hands, then from the bowl. 

Jaskier lifted his hand from the dish and stared at it with wide eyes as he experimentally flexed his fingers. They bent smoothly, if a bit slowly, and an exhausted grin came across his face. “I’ll play for the princess yet!” he crowed, then looked up at Vesemir. “A thousand thanks,” he said solemnly. “I am in your debt, all of you,” and he twisted around to include Geralt and Yennefer.

“Hm,” grunted Vesemir, and Jaskier’s eyes lit up. “Oh! So this is the genesis of Geralt of Rivia’s famed communication skills! The tone, it’s almost the exact same note, how do you both _do_ that-”

“Hm,” said Vesemir again, but Geralt knew he was smiling.

\--

Later, after Ciri had rushed back in and wrapped Jaskier’s wrist in a truly staggering amount of gauze, after they’d had soup for dinner and everyone lingered around the table for ages as Jaskier slowly, slowly reintroduced food into his system, after Jaskier had teased a few stories about young Geralt and Eskel out of Vesemir, they headed to bed.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, will it?” Yennefer said to Vesemir’s offer of a bedroom for Jaskier, turning to Geralt. He shook his head, and she turned to Jaskier, who sat frozen for a moment, then cautiously shook his head too.

Lambert, in the chair behind Geralt, choked on his ale. “What?!” he cried, looking back and forth between Jaskier, Yenn, and Geralt, as Eskel pounded him on the back. Geralt just tilted his head with a raised brow before following Yenn and Jaskier out of the room, to the sound of Lambert’s furious muttering.

“How does he _do_ it, I mean, seriously-”

The door shut behind them, leaving a tense silence in the room. Yenn, unperturbed, began to strip off her heavy dress, her golden shoulders rising from the crumped fabric. Jaskier cleared his throat and she turned around to face him, dress at her waist.

“Not that I - not that I don’t want this, but you two are -”

“Destined?” Geralt supplied. “Yes. But Jaskier, you brought us together.”

“You were the genesis for the Child Surprise, for Cirilla being brought here, to me,” Yennefer said softly, reaching for Jaskier’s arm. Geralt stepped up to his other side and cupped Jaskier’s face in his palm, smoothing his thumb over the bard’s confused expression.

“You looked after her,” he said. “When I didn’t.”

A dawning understanding came over Jaskier’s face, and the bard began to smile. “People linked by destiny-”

“Will always find each other,” Geralt finished, and kissed him, sure and steady, as Jaskier all but melted against him. They pulled away, Jaskier’s breath warm on his lips, and Yennefer was watching them, violet eyes alight with interest. 

“That’s certainly something to see,” she said huskily.  
Jaskier twitched an eyebrow at her. “Better than an orgy?” he said slyly, and she grinned sharply, hungrily.

“Cheeky,” she admonished, before pulling him in for a kiss of her own. Geralt watched the two most important people in his life gasp and press against each other, and felt that warm, satisfied heat curl back into his chest.

“I see the appeal of watching,” he said when they broke apart, and he moved in closer, bracketing Jaskier between the two of them.

“Oh, you’ll do much more than watch,” Yenn said, and as they pulled their bard down to the bed with them, finally complete, Geralt did the one thing he thought he’d never do and thanked Destiny.

**Author's Note:**

> This was another kinkmeme prompt, man I love those prompts. If anyone wants to prompt me feel free!
> 
> Leave me comments they are more precious than Girl Scout Cookies and that's saying something.


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